Flower of the Court and the Sun King
by TheDrabbleOfBlue
Summary: A tale of why Louis Weasley was named Louis.


Disclaimer: I was walking in the middle of the desert when I saw Emma Watson wearing Jeannie's attire from "I dream of Jeannie" beckoning me to come closer with a paper saying, "You own the rights to Harry Potter and all related characters, places and events." She handed me a quill to write on with a sultry smile on her face with just as I was about to sign, I saw J.K. Rowling signed on the document and I abruptly woke up in the middle of the classroom with my professor giving me a death glare.

This is my eight round entry for the QLFC Season 2 with the Caerphilly Catapults against the Kenmare Kestrels. The prompts that I'll use for this round are the following:

1\. Song – Frère Jacques

2\. Word – Gliding

3\. Word – Stubborn

Again, special thanks to frustratedstudent for the betawork. Let's get this light piece underway.

* * *

The Flower of the Court and her Sun King

Little Louis Weasley, a soft-spoken child of four years old was currently under a lot of strain. Two blonde girls swarmed fuzzed over his face or his red hair, while talking about things like face powder and lip gloss.

To them, he was a doll to be played with, as he was held down by his older sister on the chair and the oldest started puffing powder on his face after tying his curly red hair on top of his head.

Just as his sister Victoire showed his reflection, he cried out and struggled away from a giggling Dominique, running towards the only one who could stop this embarrassment he was feeling.

Fleur Delacour-Weasley was reading a treatise on enchantments to electronic muggle devices by Daphne Greengrass-Nott, when she heard screaming and then a crying red-haired boy of four ran to her.

The little boy wrapped his arms around her leg, as his face was covered in powder. His lips had traces of her pink lipgloss and his smooth manageable curls tied together by a rubber-band. It gave her the impression of her son dressed either as a morbid clown or a girl who played around the makeup kit.

"What has happened, _mon petit cher_?" Fleur inquired, her gaze landing on the two blonde girls by the door.

Victoire and Dominique felt an icy shiver down their spines and the hairs of the back of their neck stood up, as Fleur's gaze landed on them. She gave the two sisters a cold glance, her eyes were nearly vorpal with the sharpness of her gaze and the promise of slow agonizing death now evident for the recipients.

" _Maman_! _Maman_!" Louis shouted, clutching her tighter and smudging her lavender high-waist shorts with powder. He pointed to his two older sisters and they both looked pale all of a sudden.

"We shall talk later, _petites filles_." Fleur said in an even voice.

The two sisters disappeared after she said these words, fearing the coming storm from hurricane Fleur.

Louis saw his mother look into his eyes with compassion and concern, the calming presence to the inner turmoil inside his heart. He listened as she said these words, " _Mon petit cher_ , do not fret. I will fix this for you and it will be all better."

As Fleur cleared up the mess on his face and body. She smiled softly at her son as she could see her nose and hair texture on Louis's face, but everything else is pure William to her, down to the shape of his eyes. "You are very stubborn sometimes with playtimes, that's why they tease you. I'd probably do the same if I had a handsome young brother such as yourself, _mon roi-soleil_."

" _Maman,_ why do you call me the Sun King all the time?" Louis inquired, his face scrunched up in confusion.

Fleur patiently took a deep breath and closed her eyes, _"Finally, it is time to tell him as well."_ She thought, recalling every detail from her father's stories.

"You see, our family from my father's side are nobility could trace our lineage farther up to Charlemagne." Fleur opened the conversation and watched her son bloom with the information. "His name is Pierre Luc Delacour, the court wizard to Louis XIV and cousin to Jean Baptiste de La Salle, the Catholic saint."

Making herself comfortable, she began her tale.

It was 1662 and Pierre Luc Dubois was on his way to Versailles on a coach. His father had told him to work discretely with M. Le Nôtre in the gardens to be put up for Louis XIV's palace.

"Although Andre is married to a squib and knows the existence of magic, he does not condone it being used in his presence." Pierre's father told him, as these words still ringing in his head.

So Pierre made his way to the gardens upon his arrival. It was grueling work during his first few weeks.

Eventually, as his plot of plants grew better than everyone elses', the Sun King himself saw his hard work and asked for his presence in the Hall of Mirrors.

"I know you're a wizard, Pierre, through M. Le Nôtre. And I have a small favor to ask of you." Louis opened the conversation, staring out the window of the sunlit sky. "The waterworks for the fountains are having problems being assembled. I wish for you to assist him in means and ways to make my dream into a reality."

After his conversation with the King, Pierre helped by transfiguring stones, carved runes underneath the materials and provided them to Gaspard and Baltazar Mansy to create the Fontaine Latone.

Seeing their masterpiece, the Sun King personally rewarded them in gold.

Of course, the Sun King summoned Pierre's presence once more in the Hall of Mirrors. "I am grateful for your wonderful work, Pierre. However, I feel that with my lack of knowledge about your world, I must have someone who I can confide in. I would like to have you permanently around, M. Dubois. Would you like to stay in the presence of your King and country?"

Pierre was shocked with the offer, but realized that he could not leave his King unprotected. The witch hunts have been fierce all around Europe and perhaps he would be safer with Louis XIV.

"Yes, I will stay, my king."

"I thank you, M. Dubois. With this, you will now be known as M. Delacour." Louis remarked, placing a hand on Pierre's shoulder and smiled softly at him. "I will do everything in my power to help you, as long as you are honest, hardworking and loyal to me."

Over the succeeding years, Pierre became a permanent resident at _petit appartement du roi_ , which a portion of the place became the ancestral home of newly rechristened Delacours.

"But beyond our eternal gratitude for his generosity, I named you after _Louis le Grand_ because just like him, I want you to continue our work to make this a better world for you and your children. A world that you won't be separated from your siblings in a midst of a warzone and the reign of terror under a dark lord. _Je t'aime mon cher._ "

Louis looked into his mother's eyes and saw the tears forming. " _Je t'aime maman._ "

"Now, would you like to take your afternoon nap?" Fleur asked Louis, lifting her son in her arms and bringing him to his room.

" _Oui_ , _Maman_! " Louis replied with a sleepy smile on his face, adding, "as long as you sing me a lullaby."

"Alright." Fleur remarked, placing Louis on his bed and tucking him in.

As she readied her son for an afternoon nap, she remembers the first time she used her voice besides tucking Gabrielle to sleep. She shakes her head at the thought of that sleeping dragon burning the end of her skirt.

" _That stupid dragon ruined my favorite skirt of all things…_ " She told herself, pointing her wand at her throat and muttered, " _Slumberus_."

 _Frère Jacques, frère Jacques,_  
 _Dormez-vous ? Dormez-vous ?_  
 _Sonnez les matines! Sonnez les matines!_  
 _Ding, dang, dong. Ding, dang, dong._

As she sang, she stroked Louis' hair with a soft smile on her lips at every pause. With each stanza and repetition of the lullaby, she noticed her son's eyes closing as his eyes drooped.

" _Bon nuit, mon roi-soleil_. _Mon petit cher._ " Fleur whispered in her son's ear and tenderly kissed the top of his head. "I am after all, the flower of the court."

"Now… Where are those two _leetle_ girls?!" Fleur said as she went out of Louis' room. Her face turned from kind matriarch into something resembling a Hungarian Horntail. She held her wand in her hand and knew it was war.

* * *

Translations are in order but do correct my French. It is unfortunately not my native language and only have a few lessons about it.

 _Mon petit cher_ \- My (boy) little dear

 _Maman_ \- Mother

 _Petites filles_ \- little girls

 _Mon roi soleil_ \- My sun king

 _Je t'aime_ \- I love you

 _Bon nuit_ \- Good night


End file.
